


Observant

by fadedmystery



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Eliza introspection, F/M, Post-Reynolds Pamphlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 14:36:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14499153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadedmystery/pseuds/fadedmystery
Summary: She's always known. Of course she's always known.(Or, the day after Eliza found out about the Reynolds Pamphlet. Inspired by the April Hamildrop, "First Burn".)





	Observant

She’s always known. _Of course_ she’s always known.

Even without leaving their (her) home, she knows what people must be saying, knows the look that people would have in their eyes when they see her. _Poor sweet Eliza, to have her trust and marriage broken in such a public manner. Did she suspect anything? Poor dear probably never had a clue._

(Except she did.)

She’s well aware of the image she presents, and to be honest, at times, it’s far easier to let people believe she’s naïve and innocent, unaware of the temptations of politics and the ugliness that hides behind polite society. It gives her leverage, control— it allows her to watch and catalogue without people being any wiser. Angelica was the most assertive of them all, Peggy the most lively, but Eliza was always the most observant.

She saw it the day Angelica first introduced her to Alexander. From across the room she’d seen them talking, bodies angled toward each other in a way that, a few inches too close would have had her mother screaming at the impropriety. She’d seen the smile on Angelica’s face, the gleam in Alexander’s eyes. She’d also seen the slightest hint of a wince when Alexander had kissed Eliza’s hand in greeting. In the years that followed, she’d seen secret smiles, the way that gleam in her husband’s eyes had never quite faded even when he was just reading a letter from Angelica, the way Angelica perhaps held on to him a few seconds too long when they’d seen each other again after some time. Eliza had never asked, and Angelica and Alexander had never said anything. 

(She knows there’s nothing _truly_ there, knows they haven’t actually done anything. She knows they never will, and in her weaker moments, that knowledge relieves her. For better or for worse, Angelica had chosen to give him up, and Eliza refuses to feel selfish for taking him instead, for loving him and letting him love her. More importantly, Eliza refuses to feel like a second choice.)

It had been different with Maria. She’d known the day they’d come back from her father’s house. Alexander’s eyes were much too bright again, his posture less stiff despite the overwhelming stress he was facing. She’d known in the way he’d slip away from their bed to write letters when he thought she was asleep. He’d never been absent in his affection with her, never suddenly more distant than usual, but she’d felt it—there was something. She just didn’t want to think of the possibility that it was a _someone_ instead. 

Eliza stares at the letters in her hand, the sweet little anecdotes that had made her heart flutter, the lines fraught with tension that had made her heart swell with the thought of his bravery and dedication. Her eyes move unconsciously towards the desk, where that wretched Pamphlet lies, and the satisfaction of being right has never made her feel sicker.

(She knows he doesn’t love this girl. She knows he loves her. But she also knows that, above all else, he loves the legacy he will leave behind the most. It isn’t until now though, that she realizes that his family was not the legacy he wanted to protect.)

She remembers reading the words for the first time just yesterday, all the salacious details (Alex, even when ruining himself, never could let go of the little things). She remembers the way the dread had twisted her stomach, the coldness she’d felt all over as the world fell in silence around her, the way she suddenly couldn’t breathe. She remembers the anger, so white-hot and strong that there was no energy left for anything else, much less tears. She can still see the indents of her fingernails on her palms from when she’d pressed them in; she wonders if they were the types of marks that scar.

(Most of all, she remembers the way Alexander had come home, sincere and contrite and begging for her forgiveness. She’d taken one look at him, whispered, _“How could you?”_ and shut the door in his face. Her children have been asking why their father had left that night, but she can’t-wont- tell them. Let Alexander have the privilege of explaining how he’d ruined their family to the people who mattered most.)

Eliza still hasn’t cried. There is shaking and fury and it feels like someone had carved her heart out of her chest, but there are no tears. Mostly right now she feels hollow, as if there is too much and too little emotion all at once and she doesn’t know quite what to do with herself. From the window she can see a streetlamp in the distance, brightly lit with a fresh flame. The lamp on the desk glows too, the orange cast making those wretched papers shine. 

She stares at the letters in her hand, then at the lamp. 

The flames look much too bright. 

Eliza shoves the letters back into the box that holds them, and stands. There would be time for tears later.

**Author's Note:**

> So I listened to "First Burn" and the savagery and heartbreak was so raw and beautiful and left me with so many feelings. How could I not write them down? The evolution of First Burn to Burn is amazing and really illustrates the many complex emotions that someone goes through in a situation like that. I hope I did justice to the initial anger and confusion Eliza must have felt.


End file.
